


To Old Friends

by Sherlock_hotchner_jane



Series: BAMF!John: Bondlock crossover [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John Watson, M/M, Q (James Bond) is a Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:35:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24965323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock_hotchner_jane/pseuds/Sherlock_hotchner_jane
Summary: John Watson comes across an old friend *cough*, James Bond. They met in Afghanistan. And again in Vauxhall. Not that Mycroft knows that or he’d never have let him live with Sherlock in the first place. Soon, he might just find that his two worlds come crashing together.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade & John Watson, James Bond & John Watson, James Bond/John Watson, James Bond/Q, James Sholto/John Watson, Mary Morstan & John Watson, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: BAMF!John: Bondlock crossover [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806919
Comments: 9
Kudos: 110





	1. This is more important than the bloody milk

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic ever so please be nice! BAMF John Watson has always been my favourite thing to read so I thought I’d try writing some of my own...

We need milk -SH  
John -SH  
We need milk -Sh  
Milk -SH  
Milk -SH  
Milk -SH

You could just tell me. I’m sitting right here you know -JW  
Milk -SH  
Fine. -JW

Where are you? -SH  
Honestly John I only sent you to get milk -SH  
Gone and got yourself kidnapped again? -SH  
Seriously John, how long does it take to get milk? Had another row worth the chip and pin machine? -SH  
John? -SH

“Turn around, drop the gun and put your hands up. I’m warning you, I’m armed. Nice and slow, that’s it,” he ordered. Of course John’s day couldn’t get any worse. All he wanted was to get the bloody milk and for people to stop disrupting him so he could watch the latest Doctor Who episode. Was it really so much to ask? But no. He had to end up witnessing what was most likely a murder in a secluded alleyway 4 miles from their nearest Tescos. And now he was facing off with an unknown armed assailant whilst furiously cursing Sherlock for being too lazy to buy his own goddamn milk. It seemed that danger really did follow him. Or maybe he followed it? Whatever it was, Sherlock would never let him hear the end of this one. 

_“Really John? Couldn’t help but stop for a quick adrenaline fix on your way to get the milk? I know you always tell me not to have fun without you John, but perhaps I should say the same to you. You can’t even get the milk without following a strange man into an unknown alley to see him shoot an unknown victim. Honestly, one would think you went searching for danger. Did you at least get...”_

_“Shit fuck bloody buggering fuck!” John swears, and then groans._

_“I think there were two fucks in there; you should be a bit more creative in your swearing,” Sherlock grins, raising one eyebrow in question.  
“After all that... I didn’t get the bloody milk!”_

He could see it play out in his head, Sherlock’s laughing eyes, his twitching lips. Another attempted trip to the store to get finally get the bloody milk. A phone call from Lestrade, asking him if he went actually went looking for killers. Vague references to the incident being used to tease him for months. John groaned internally. Why was it always him? Not to say he didn’t enjoy it of course (he’d never admit though). 

His attention flicked back to the unknown man, who was slowly standing up, having placed the gun on the ground. He frowned. For a killer the man was sure dressed strangely: polished, black shoes, leather gloves, slick blond hair and most noticeably, a very _very_ expensive suit. He’d go as far as to say it was tailored. He really should know this sort of thing, having lived with a rich toddler who never accepted anything but the finest silks for the past few years. He glanced back up at the man, who still had his back to him. 

“Turn around. Slowly. Don’t get any funny ideas. Don’t speak,” John said cautiously, keeping his own gun trained on the strange man. Suddenly, the man chuckled. There was something about that chuckle that John couldn’t quite place. Where had he heard it before? Memories he hadn’t thought of in years began to intrude at the edge of his brain. He recognised this man. 

No. No no no. It couldn’t be. He had left this life behind, he’d moved on, compartmentalised, hadn’t thought of these people in years. Yes, it had hurt when he’d walked away; yes, he’d had to leave friends behind, but he’d needed out. He had left that life behind for a reason. Sherlock couldn’t know. Sherlock could not find out about this. How do you hide something from a man who sees everything? _You don’t,_ his brain supplied. 

Well shit. John Watson’s worlds were about to come crashing together.  
_First deal with the immediate problem._ Right. Of course. 

“Wait. Forget that. Listen to my instructions. Don’t move until I’ve finished speaking.” Thoughts raced through his head, desperately trying to remember this mans habits. He had once known them as well as his own. The memories began to flood back in. “Take off you jacket. Very slowly. Keep one hand in the air. Remove the handgun from the shoulder holster. Put it on the floor. What happened to the Walther? Did Q get fed up of you breaking his toys? No. Don’t answer that.” The man chuckled again, knowing it would infuriate John.

“Finally realised who I am then?”

“What did I say about not talking?” John snapped back. “After you’ve done that, remove the knife from your left sleeve and roll both of your cuffs up. Then lean down and slowly, and I repeat _slowly_ , take out that third pistol I know you’ve got in your leg holster. Slide it along the ground towards me, along with the second dagger. Take off both shoes as well. Move. Now.”

“Really John? Is this any way to treat an old friend?” The man asked, proceeding to do as John asked. Finally, he took a ballpoint pen out of his pocket, holding it up in one hand. “Do you want the exploding pen as well?”

John snorted. “Q finally got round to making that, huh? Well put it down then. Carefully. You can turn around now, but don’t try any of your usual tricks otherwise I swear I won’t hesitate to shoot you. You know I will.”

Spinning slowly on one heel, the man turned. “You never were one to make empty threats John. Or promises,” the man said winking. John blushed slightly.

“You always did have a flair for dramatic entrances you know. Annoyed me to no end.”  
“Hello, John.”  
“James.”


	2. Reconciliation?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and John reconcile. Kind of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a lot of this is filler- sorry! Things have been a little hectic at the moment and I wanted to capture a little bit of the camaraderie between the 2, so this is what happened...

“Are you going to put the gun down then? Where did you even get that thing? Army standard issue if I’m not incorrect,” James said smirking. “Someone’s been a bad boy and stolen government property,” he teased. 

“Shut up,” John mumbled, “and anyway, it’s not like you haven’t destroyed a shit tonne of Q’s gadgets yourself. Those are the expensive ones too, so it’s no wander he hasn’t trusted you with his precious Walther.”

“His Walther? I’ll have you know that I consider that baby my own.” James cried out in mock offence. “Your gun?”

“I hate to break it to you James, but this isn’t going anyway until I know exactly what you’re doing here. We both know too many agents gone rogue. So if you don’t mind, I think it’d be best if you slid me that ear piece of yours, it’s been too long since I last spoke to Q anyhow, though I’m sure he hasn’t missed me.” John grinned. 

James’ grin had faded at the reminder of all their previous missions. He had fond memories of his times with John; they had been an inseparable team whose reputation had continued to be unchallenged. Those had been good times captured in a world of betrayals and deception, but they had always been each other’s rock- kept each other sane (or insane depending on which way you looked at it - no one ever said they were normal). Sometimes, when it all got too much, when the sky came crashing down because nothing would ever be the same, they’d seen too much, done to much to come out the other side unscarred, they found comfort in each other. In the easy camaraderie between them, the kind of love that only existed between brothers-in-arms. Well they certainly found solace in each other’s arms. Life was too short to dwell on the consequences. Trust was so precious in their line of work and John and James trusted each other intimately; they would be fools not to make the most of that. But things had changed. 

“Fair enough,” James said flatly, removing his comms system from his ear and sliding it along the ground. John crouched, keeping the gun trained on James whilst he fumbled on the ground for the ear piece. He stood, slotting it into his ear, wincing as the moulded shape sat uncomfortably against his ear canal. 

“Jesus Bond, I forgot what elephant ears you had,” he grumbled. “Now I remember why I could never get away with losing my headsets- I had no one to steal from!”  
James snorted at that. 

“Not my fault, that. Just coz I could get away with using your stuff and deflecting the blame. Shame you left. Q finally caught on to what I was doing when every piece of my equipment came back the very opposite of unscathed. He’s cute when he’s angry.”

“I’ll definitely tell him you said that you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”James gasped jokingly, his casual demeanour returning as he and John fell back into the easy banter they once shared. 

“Watch me,” John said, winking as he pressed down on the ear piece. “So, Q, James says you’re cute when you’re angry? Ahhhh I see, I’ll definitely tell him what an inconsiderate arsehole he is.... Of course. Keep Mycroft off my trail for a while won’t you, I’m not quite ready for him to find out about this part of me yet, and besides, I like to think I’m saving the poor souls of his minions... Well he’s definitely going to freak and go all British government on me when he finds out who I am isn’t he? And I’d like to speak to Sherlock first, preferably before he hears it from someone else... Maybe don’t come around for a while, you know I can’t hide anything from Sherlock... Well this is different isn’t it? It’s not like I had much choice... Alright, thanks Quentin, I’ll send your bad wishes along to James, I’m sure he’ll appreciate them... Stop complaining! You’re lucky I don’t call you Sherringford,” John teased.

He looked up at James in surprise. “I think he hung up on me!” He said in shocked amusement, but froze when he saw the carefully configured mask James had adorned, as well as the tension he held himself with. “Something wrong?” He asked cautiously, well aware that no matter who was holding the weapon, James would be more than his equal if it came down to a fight. His posture stiffened instinctively as the two men eyed each other, weighing up each other’s strengths and weaknesses. A fight between them would be ugly no doubt, it had happened only once before, and although neither man had any wish to have a repeat experience, they both know that if it came down to it, neither would be holding back any blows. 

That was the problem with being such close partners- you are so intimately acquainted, so familiar with the other, that you fit together like two pieces of a puzzle. You covered their weaknesses and learnt from their strengths automatically; it came as a second nature to you. And therein lied the problem. Because when you know someone that well, or knew someone that well, it never really leaves you, muscle memory doesn’t let it; the memories stored in the dusty depths of you brain don’t let it; you will always remember. But where you once worked with each other’s weaknesses, you can also work against them. A fight was to be avoided at all costs. 

“James?” John prompted, letting his own emotionless mask fall into place with years of experienced ease. 

“Who exactly are you, John Watson? Quentin, Sherringford, all those other names? You shouldn’t know them John. As well as illegal guns and stalking me down an alley, seems a bit above your civilian pay grade doesn’t it? Unless you’ve turned. You wouldn’t be the first; we both know it. There’s no retiring from this job. You got lucky getting out when you did, would it really be such a stretch for you to be working on the other side now? We used to be partners John, it’s a shame it’s come down to this.” James ended his speech with a raised eyebrow and a shake of his head, disappointment obvious in his body language. 

“Lucky. You think I was lucky to get out when I did. You don’t know half of it James, and to be honest, I hope you never find out. That’s between me and Q and M and it’s none of your business, seeing as you weren’t there to see it. And as for Quentin? We’re good friends I’ll have you know. If you knew anything about his family you would know why, but then I guess you never were very good boyfriend material. Too egotistical. Don’t look so surprised, Q’s kept me updated on everything to do with his boyfriend. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.” John replied. Years of held back emotion filled his voice, things he hadn’t thought of in years, for good reason, threatened to overpower him and John finally let himself feel. He sagged back against the wall alleyway, letting the gun clatter to the ground. He had ceased to care about the tension between himself and his former colleague/partner/friend/lover. “Jesus James.” He whispered. “After all that time, has it really come down to this? We used to trust each other without question you know, we can still try for that again; I would still trust you with my life even at this moment.” 

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies?” James asked, approaching John and dropping his façade at the same time. He held out his hand for John to pull himself up. 

“Exactly. Anyway, I probably have a similar security clearance to you when it comes to certain events,” John hinted at with a smug smile, knowing that at some point James would give in and ask. He never had been able to deny his curiosity. 

“John Watson, what on earth have you been up to for all these years?” James asked in amazement, before reaching down to fix his leg holster. The two men straightened out their clothing, before picking up the previously discarded weaponry and sauntering out of the alleyway looking ten years younger. It was good for them to be back together. Not quite healing, but good nonetheless. 

“That’s for me to know and you to pester me in vain about,” John said slyly, “I though you would last longer than that before giving in, I’m disappointed. You never could stop fishing for information above your clearance. It used to drive the old M mad.” James snorted. 

“Still does with the new one. I mean, if he didn’t want me to read all those files then he shouldn’t have left them on his desk should he? He should’ve learnt from the old M.” John rolled his eyes. “I miss her, John, she was the only one who let us get away with so much.” 

“I know.” John said softly, then joked “You’re lucky you were her favourite. The rest of us couldn’t dream of doing anything like that for fear that we would be demoted to desk jockeys.”

“You’re just jealous, and all this reminiscing has made me desperate for a beer? Come with?”

“Oh god yes... so... exploding pens?” 

James looked up in surprise, before catching Johns expression. The two broke out into laughter like they hadn’t in years.

“I bet I can still drink you under the table.”

“Yeah right. You never could and you never will, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“We’ll see.“


	3. A Reality Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys discuss their genius boyfriends, things get a little heated and reality sets back in for John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aahhhhh sorry for the late update! I’d appreciate any tips with uploading and formatting, I’ve been having some trouble uploading from my laptop so I’ve switched to my phone, which seems to be working ok except it takes a while to load...

They ended up in the corner booth of a small bar a couple streets down. Both of them sliding habitually towards one side, where they could see the entrance. They caught each other in the act and grinned wryly at the signs of long-ingrained habits. 

“So you’re telling me, that Q’s brother is the mad hat detective who committed fake suicide to hunt down the remnants of the mad criminal mastermind who strapped a bomb to you in a swimming pool. _Jesus Christ._ And you’re dating him.”

“It seems we both have a taste for tall dark haired geniuses. Who knows, we could end up as brothers-in-law,” John said cheekily. The way me and Sherlock are going, Q and I will almost definitely be family by the end of the year. Well, hopefully we still will be once he finds out about this,” he finished soberly, his grin fading as he thought about the conversation which would have to ensue. You could never predict Sherlock’s reaction to something like this, it was one of the things John loved so much about him; he was always kept on his toes, but at times like this Sherlock’s reaction could come dangerously close to breaking the bond of trust between them. Especially when one happened to be a former MI6 agent renowned in the world of espionage for being the most efficient they’d ever seen. Nope. This was definitely a precarious situation. 

“Earth to Watson. Or will it be Watson-Holmes soon? Don’t stress. I’m sure you and this genius of yours will figure it out, especially if you’re as deep in love as you seem to be. Three Continents Watson has finally fallen,” James said grinning. “I never thought I would see this day arrive. Literally. I thought I’d be dead well before you settled down.”

John snorted. “Mmmm, I hate to break it to you James, but you’re an old man now.”

“Old my ass, you’re less than a year younger than me!”

“Old man,“ John stated solemnly, struggling to keep a straight face. 

“Oi,” James grumbled under his breath. “Call me old one more time and I think we’ll be taking this to the Vauxhall facilities. I’m sure Q will be happy to judge.”

“Yeah, right. Bribe the judge with good cooking, cuddles and lots of sex for a week. Seems kinda unfair don’t you think?”

“Awww, worried you’re gonna lose?”

John smirked. “Worried you’re gonna disappoint you’re boyfriend when it’s clear who the winner is. Either that or make him jealous, especially if we end of rolling on the mats. Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure you still have some of your dignity left.”

James groaned. “If I hadn’t just found out about your genius of a boyfriend I would think Three Continents Watson planned to strike again. And steal _my_ boyfriend I might add. Honestly, anyone would think that you’re the smart, fit, attractive guy working for a top secret government agency who gets laid whenever they feel like, and I’m the wingman!” James paused, then raised one eyebrow, smirking. “Well they might if you stopped wearing those frankly hideous jumpers...”

“I’ll have you know that these jumpers have nothing to do with how often I get laid. In fact, Sherlock seems to be rather _strangely_ attracted to them.”

“ I rather think he’s attracted to something else other than your jumpers,” came the dry reply. John looked up to see the teasing grin on James’ face and the humorous glint in his eye. Well he knew more than one way to wipe that grin off of his face, didn’t he now? 

Maintaining eye contact, he tilted forward, angling towards James. He paused, waiting for the slight tilt of James’ head to continue. Next came the hands, James always had loved his hands. Slowly, slowly they crept forward from under the table, and John smiled to himself at the slight intake of breath he heard when he finally touched James’ knee. This was as fun as it used to be. _Don’t get carried away_ a little voice in the back of his head reminded him. _Things are different now. You have a boyfriend._ He knew that, of course he did. But this was nothing serious, was it? It was just a bit of teasing between old friends, it’s not like they were gonna sleep together or something. 

He continued. 

The hand inched higher and higher up James’ thigh, bordering the line of most definitely inappropriate when one has a boyfriend. Then it stopped again. James, it seemed, had finally come to the end of his patience, moving one hand towards John’s without breaking eye contact. John tightened the hand on James’ leg immediately. 

“Ah ah ah,” he breathed under his breath, glad for the privacy of the booth. He didn’t need to say anything else, he knew James would understand. This game they were playing, the dancing around, the teasing, they had done it all before. He knew the rules. 

John leaned forward some more, shifting until his body was pressed close up against James’ side. His breath was hot against James neck, and it was so tempting, so _so_ tempting, to lean in and mark that pulse point he could see rapidly beating so beautifully. No. Sherlock. Think of Sherlock. John knew he was bordering on the edge of unfaithfulness. He knew, but he couldn’t resist one last teasing comment before he pulled away. 

“Best keep those hands still, James. Wouldn’t want to have to get the handcuffs out again. You know we both have a pair.” John watched as James’ eyes darken, feeling the electric thrill run through him. 

It was the sharp intake of breath behind him that brought him crashing back to reality. He froze, as did James when they recognised a third presence behind them. Neither reached for their weapons, though. There was only one person brave or stupid enough to approach two men so intimately close to each other in a booth. The cutting remark came next. 

“I assume this isn’t some suspect you’re planning to arrest, John, therefore I must infer that I have found you in the most compromising situation, sitting in a bar with an ex who is most obviously still interested in you. No wonder you hadn’t come back with the milk.”

John sat up stiffly, removing his hand from James thigh. Jesus Christ. What has he done? The mask had come back up. The mask that John has worked a hard to break down, but by bit, and now he had undone all of his hard work. The Sherlock that stood in front of him now was cold and slightly calculating, but even Sherlock himself couldn’t make the flicker of hurt that had run through his eyes. John didn’t need to be a spy to see that. 

At that moment John truly hated himself. He was full to the brim with loathing, all directed towards his stupid, stupid, _stupid_ self. He was worthless. He had finally found someone who could see all of him, who accepted all of him, and look what he had done. He’d gone and ruined it all. He didn’t deserve Sherlock and he knew it. 

He opened his mouth, to say something, anything that could fix this situation, but he was cut off before he could even finish drawing a painful breath in. 

“Wait,” Sherlock snapped, refusing to look at him. John froze once more, eyes darting between desperately trying to make eye contact with Sherlock and with Sherlock’s phone, wondering who Sherlock could possibly be texting at this moment. His eyes widened minutely as Sherlock brought the phone to his ear. Sherlock didn’t ring people. Basically ever. 

“Lestrade-“ Sherlock barked. “Yes I found him... No there’s nothing to worry about... He was at the bar... Yes seriously... Why was he...” At that moment Sherlock looked up, but not at John. His eyes bored into James, staring as if they could see the depths of his soul. James, never one to back down from a challenge, but also knowing when he was being sized up, looked passively back. The silence stretched out, neither man looking away, until it was broken by the muffled sound of Lestrade yelling in Sherlock’s ear. “What?” He said distractedly, eyes continuing to run over James, this time in much more brisk fashion. “Mind your own business Lestrade,” he said flatly at last, then hung up the phone. There was silence again. Finally, Sherlock replaced the phone in his pocket. 

John hated himself even more. Sherlock- kind, loving Sherlock who had opened his heart to him and only him, had been worried enough to call Lestrade to help find him. And where had he been? In a bar, seemingly trying to hook up with James as if they were still young and irresponsible. John finally crumbled. He sagged back against the tattered booth sofa, staring imploringly at Sherlock’s face, begging him to give a sign, any sign, that Sherlock could actually see him right now. That he wasn’t being treated like client, even if he knew he deserved to be. When he received nothing, John knew that he had shattered something sacred. He knew it. Silently, he watched Sherlock turn and walk towards the exit. Neither of them had said a word.

At that moment he felt old; the weight of the world on his shoulders was finally getting to him and he seems to shrink into himself. He was worthless; he was stupid; he was useless as a doctor; he was useless as a soldier; he was useless as an agent; he was useless as a friend and he was most definitely useless as a partner and boyfriend. Sherlock didn’t deserve this. Sherlock deserved to be loved and cared for and treated like the amazing man he was. John was useless in all aspects and he knew it. 

A rough hand touched his under the table, and John flinched at being drawn from his spiral of negative thoughts. He looked up, expecting to see the pity and understanding in James’ eyes. He saw the understanding, but instead of pity he got burning flames and anger. 

“No. You do not get to do that, John Watson. You do not get to think those thoughts. Ever.” James spoke fiercely, surprising even himself with his intensity. “Fucking pull yourself together, get out there and fix this like the fucking man I know you are.” John stared dazedly at him. “For fucks sake, John, the man you love has just walked out of here after finding you about this close to mauling me in a bar booth and you’re still sat here. Snap out of it! Get the fuck up and chase him. What was that you once told me? Your mistakes do not define you. Well then, John Watson, your mistake does not fucking define you.” James paused to take a breath, then began again more softly. “Go, John. This is not the end of the world, even if it may seem like it. No matter what that stupid voice in your head may say, you, John Watson, are not, and never will be , useless. Believe me, I’d have died a long time ago if you were. So stand up, check yourself, and chase him. He’s not that long gone, I’ll get Q to keep and eye on him. Sherlock needs you now more than ever.”

That was finally what snapped John out of the haze inside his head. Sherlock needed him. Sherlock, who had had a singular bad experience with a relationship before. Sherlock, who had relied on him to show him how a proper, healthy relationship worked. Sherlock, who was probably so overwhelmed with emotion right now, he probably wasn’t thinking clearly. Sherlock, who knew exactly where to find the dealers on the corner of that dark road. And it was John that had driven him there. _No._ Sherlock. Sherlock needed him. 

“Go,” James urged. Yes. He had to go. Forcing himself to his feet, he made towards the exit, stumbling slightly. Sherlock need him. Sherlock needed him, and he would be there. Because no matter what happened between them, no matter if their entire world was falling apart, they would always be there for each other, friends or partners, dating or married, strangers or lovers. 

John Watson was not useless. John Watson had a purpose. He would be there for Sherlock Holmes. 

Now he just had to find him.


End file.
